My dear brother, I should hope
This letter finds you well,
And has not aggravated
Our relationship further.

The dreadful winter
Is here again at last,
And the year is 2020.

Of course I realize
That you have been
Long since dead,

Tho I write this letter
In my own form
To communicate with you.

How I miss things in our own time.
The smell of barley,
Leaves me ill with longing for home.

I should have taken my place
Between you and our parents
Long ago.

Transportation is different
In this age and time.
There are no carriages in sight.

I'm concerned, brother
Of things in this world.
I live in a world full of masquerades.

Letters are a thing of the past,
And the accursed "internet"
Has overruled our old-fashioned ways.
(How I loathe Thomas Edison!)

In short, brother, I am ill.
Not of life,
But without any will to live longer.

We've since reached
Another century,
And yet have had anything to improve.

How many centuries
Must I suffer longer?
How must I part ways with life?

Godspeed, brother.
Until we should meet again.